


The heart can burn as much as a piece of paper

by ColdeLinke



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdeLinke/pseuds/ColdeLinke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands hurt, he realizes once he's back in Baker Street.</p><p> </p><p>(the missing scene between Sherlock saving John from a fire and Sherlock "talking" with his parents)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The heart can burn as much as a piece of paper

His hands hurt, he realizes once he's back in Baker Street. The gloves were not thick enough to prevent the fire from burning them, it seems. He is just staring at them in the kitchen, the light low enough as to not hurt his eyes but bright enough to see clearly. His palms are red and where they were numb a moment ago, now they itch and burn and hurt. He passes them absently under the water to ease them, but the thought of John hurting makes him scrub them harder, until they're redder than before and pieces of skin pull off in a sickening manner.  
He doesn't realize he is crying until the tears fall on his hands. He doesn't know if it's his hands which are hurting too much or his thoughts. He's became weaker. He's changed, and not for the better. There are nights where he can't sleep, memories of his two years clawing at him. He used to think about John, about going back to him again, it made him stronger. But now the very thought of losing him, of the feeling he had when rescuing him from the fire, "what if there's not enough time? what if he's already dead?", scares him more than anything that has happened to him those past years.  
He's almost glad no one is here to see him cry, to hear his sobs. Almost. If only John could step into the light and reassure him that he's alright.  
He's not been forgiven. He doesn't know if he will be. He doesn't know how his best friend is, if he can sleep, or if his eyes are fixed on the ceiling above him remembering the paralysis and the smoke and the pain. There's nothing he can do now.  
He left and he lost his best friend for a while, or rather his best friend lost him. He never really lost John  
(who took a bigger place in his mind palace as time passed.) 


End file.
